


Satisfaction

by BluePeople



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePeople/pseuds/BluePeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after the ball, Tybalt tries to handle Romeo through means other than murder.</p><p>(Slash.  And could maybe be classified as crack.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfaction

A/N: For the record, I had the original cast in mind for this.

* * *

 

Romeo was tossing pebbles into the fountain restlessly for two hours before a shadow finally fell over him. “Romeo.” Cool and distant. “Let's talk.”

Probably the man he wanted to meet least in all of Verona.  “Tybalt? Um-... Talk about what?” He had to buy time to think of an escape; he _would not_ fight Capulets today.

“About what?” Tybalt laughed. “I knew you were a faithless womanizer but I didn’t think you’d have forgotten her after just twelve hours.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll let her know. Thanks.” He turned to go.

Romeo chased after him and grabbed his sleeve. “ _Wait._  Come on.” Incredibly, Tybalt made no move to attack him... so he persisted. “What did you want to talk about?”

Tybalt looked down his nose, cold and formal and _just_ shy of sneering. “I was under the impression that you wanted to discuss marriage with my cousin. Is that correct, or not?”

“I- um, yes-… Tybalt, you don’t mean…” Finally, he took a moment to put himself together. “I don’t understand,” he said at last. “Juliet said she would send a messenger to me. Are you telling me that _you_ are that messenger?”

“Yes.”

“I expected her to send her nurse.  Last night...” He tried not to sound accusing. “Last night she said she was afraid of you, Tybalt. She was terrified that you might have overheard us.”

Tybalt's sigh was exasperation... and a little pity. “I did. Obviously.”

“And you... came here to...?”

“To negotiate on Juliet's behalf.” He laughed. “Unless you think you’ll have better luck getting your parents to reach an agreement with hers?”

“No no, of course, I- I just…” Romeo tried, _tried_ for a smile. “I’m glad to see that Juliet has such a zealous protector.”

Tybalt threw an arm around his shoulders with a smile that showed far too many teeth. “I’m sure. Now here's how we'll handle this: tonight we will drink together.  I have questions – many, many questions – for the man who hopes to marry my cousin, and I won't trust the answers you give me while you're still sober enough to lie.”

Romeo fought free. “I'm not a liar, Tybalt.”

“But you _are_ a faithless womanizer. Aren't you.”

He swallowed. “Not anymore. In fact I'm going to marry Juliet – tonight.”

“If you're really in love and you really think it's eternal, you can surely wait _one more day_ in order to get the family's blessing. Can't you.”

It sounded too good to be true. “The family's blessing,” he repeated. “Can you really get that for me? Lady Capulet is...” _a vengeance-crazed slut, says my mother, who dreams of killing us all with the poisonous secretions of her diseased-..._ “Not fond of my family.”

“I can manage Lady Capulet,” Tybalt said shortly. “I want the best for my cousin and I'll have it; I'll let nothing, including the feud of our fathers, stand in the way.”

Romeo stood tall. “Good. _I_ am what's best for your cousin,” he said firmly. “We are meant for each other.”

“Convince me and you'll have your wedding,” Tybalt said. “Fail, and you'll have a funeral instead. Clear?”

“Clear.”  It was better than he'd expected of Tybalt, really.

* * *

Romeo had had no idea that a Capulet could be such a pleasant drinking companion. He knew when to smile and when to tease (perhaps Lady Capulet had taught him?), when to argue and when to volunteer some bit of (usually sad) personal information. For the first hour they just drank and talked about nothing of significance, but eventually Romeo knew it was time. “Tybalt...”

“Yes. Very well.  Let us discuss my cousin.”

And that quickly, it was time to make his case. He took a breath and tried to clear the fog of drink from his head. “Listen. I may be young… foolish… Montague… whatever it is you complain about,” he said, “But I swear that what I feel for Juliet is true and real and I’ve never felt anything like it in my life!  Tybalt.  You don’t understand.  I- I will give her everything, I will treasure her forever.  I will do  anything  for her.  Name it, anything, and I’ll-” he hiccupped.

“How about:  leave  Verona  today, and never bother my family again,” Tybalt suggested hopefully.

Romeo returned his smile, shaking his head.  “Anything but that.  I can’t leave Juliet.  I love her.”

Tybalt winced. “I... believe you.”

That quickly? “So, are you satisfied?”

“Ha! I’ve hardly started. I’m going to order us another bottle. Let’s play darts while we wait for it.”

Romeo hesitated, his head already fuzzed, but Tybalt was insistent. “Come – I won't hand my cousin over to a boy who can’t throw straight; next thing I know he’ll have put her eye out and-”

“Excuse me, but I think Juliet will have better sense than to stand in the path of my dart game when I’m drunk as a sailor,” Romeo slurred, but got up and followed him.

Tybalt pretended to make himself a note. “Gets… drunk… as… sailor,” he wrote on his hand. “You know, that’s not a point in your favor.”

“Says the man who’s been pouring for me all evening.” Romeo squinted at the target.

“You’re hardly even pointed in the right direction.”

“You'll see.” But Romeo’s throw was completely wild and clattered to the floor, hardly even near the dartboard. He winced, but before he could think of an excuse to make Tybalt was stepping nearer.

“Turn yourself a little more… and raise your- yes, like that. Better. No – keep your feet as they are.”

Tybalt guided him into position, so close he could feel breath on his neck, and patted him on the back when he managed a passable throw. “Much better.”

The din of the place was becoming confusing, and when Romeo twisted around to say something he forgot what it was. He frowned.

“What?” Tybalt said.

“I don’t know. For a second-…” He suddenly remembered what had struck him as odd: “You use the same soap as Juliet.”

Tybalt looked startled for a moment, then laughed. “Yes.” He leaned in and inhaled deeply. “It smells better than yours.”

Before Romeo could answer, a barmaid came to hand them another bottle. Rather than go seek out cups, they just drank directly from it, passing it back and forth. Their hands brushed, every pass, although Tybalt kept right on talking and never appeared to notice. He asked a lot of questions. Some of them were silly (“Do you snore?”) but others were not. “Do you know how my mother died?”

“No…” He sincerely hoped it had not been the work of a Montague.

“Her first child was a difficult birth – and stillborn. My father wanted an heir, so against the doctor’s advice he sired another on her.” He spread his hands with a short bow.

“Oh... I'm so sorry. That’s a terrible way for a child to come into the world.” It took him a moment to realize what the implied question must be. “And of course I would never, you know, I’d never put Juliet in danger. Ever. Not for any reason.”

Tybalt held his gaze a long moment before looking back to the dartboard. “Good.”

Romeo felt warmed by even that tiny expression of approval. He was drunk. And he was enjoying himself; until now the nearest thing he’d ever had to an older brother was Mercutio, who would sooner have taught him to eat the darts than throw them.

After darts Romeo was coaxed into singing, and balancing on a table, and reciting (garbled) portions of the _Aeneid_. He rose to any challenge that began: “I will not hand my cousin off to a man who can’t…”

For his part, Tybalt let himself be cajoled into kissing a barmaid, doing a card trick, and demonstrating an impressive ability to swallow fire. He insisted that that last feat was easy and had not hurt him at all, but still let Romeo touch his lips in wonder and stare into his mouth to see whether his tongue had been burnt.

And still they kept drinking. Eventually, bottles in hand, they stumbled out of the tavern in search of an alley to piss in. They found a spot that was a little secluded but had nobody sleeping in it and, side by side, drunkenly unlaced themselves.

After a moment Romeo happened to glance Tybalt’s way, and saw that Tybalt was staring at him. He jumped. “Oy! Stop watching me.”

“I was just checking,” Tybalt sniffed. “To make sure you’re not… deformed.”

“Deformed?” Romeo faced him squarely. “There – see? Satisfied?” He crossed his arms and waited.

Tybalt cocked his head. “Hm. Adequate.”

“ _Adequate_?”

“And barely, at that.”

“Excuse me!” Impossible to tell if he was joking; impossible to know whether to get offended or not. “Anyway, you know what they say-”

“ _They_ say a whole lot of things about size and skill,” Tybalt said loftily, as he laced himself back up. “And I find that _they_ who say them are usually lacking in both areas.”

Romeo stepped right up into his face, backing him into a wall. “You think I’m lacking?”

“I said _adequate_.”

“Sure you did. Are you trying to make me prove myself?”

Tybalt laughed – derisive.

So Romeo kissed him.

The ground was tilting. There was warmth under his hands; he pulled back and realized that he had wormed his way under Tybalt's shirt.

“Not _here_!” Tybalt hissed, shoving at him.

Romeo bit his lip and discovered that it was swollen up from kissing he could hardly remember. “Then where?” he said. “Your house or mine?”

The idea was riotous, and by the time he had stopped laughing Tybalt had dragged him halfway down the street. “Tybalt. Where are we going?” he tried to say, but it was so slurred he couldn't even understand it himself.

“Here.” A loud creak, a terrific bang as the door shut behind them. Romeo blinked his eyes into focus and made out candlelight. Ha – set the mood. Actually...

“ _Church_!?”

“Nobody comes here th'iddle'a Saturday night,” Tybalt explained. “It's safe.”

“Nuh. No, thass... it's wrong.”

“The confessional's right over there. Shush.” Tybalt steered him into a pew and shoved him down. Climbed into his lap.

Romeo laughed. He wanted to say, _I never thought you could be this much fun_ , but he was too drunk. There were lips and hands all over him and he wanted to say _I never thought you’d be so GOOD at this_ , but of course there was no way _that_ was going to come out right either.

He heard a dull thud, and a swear word. He tried to open his eyes. “Yyy-arright?”

“Yeh. Banged my knee.” When Tybalt shifted they almost fell off the bench. “'Parently pews're not designed for this.”

“Yuh. Floor?”

Tybalt got them to their feet, somehow, and lurched into the aisle – still drinking as he went along. “C'mon.”

Then they were sitting on carpet in the very shadow of the altar. Romeo panicked and tried to gasp “It's a _sin_!”, but Tybalt only handed him a bottle. He wanted to explain that he'd said _sin_ not _drink,_ but he didn’t think Tybalt could hear any better than he could speak. He drank.

There were hands at his fly. He helped them.

“Adequate,” Tybalt laughed into his mouth.

“You-! Ahssshow you adequate.” He heaved Tybalt around and fumbled with his belt from behind. Tybalt's hands were there too, and it wasn't clear whether he was trying to help or trying to resist. Either way it was ineffectual, so Romeo shoved him down by the back of the neck and did it all himself.

Juliet's scent. The world lurched.

Then he heard somebody cry out, and his head cleared just enough to wonder what was going on. He squinted at the candles around him.

“Tch! D’oo have – _any_ idea – whasshre doing?” Good question – what _was_ he doing? Romeo looked down to the source of the voice… and discovered that he was getting laid. Nice!

Dark hair. Too blurry to see more. Not a girl though; the grip around his wrist was like iron…

“Romeo, for Christ’s sake…” This time he recognized the voice and then remembered: Tybalt. Challenging him.

He paid more attention to what he was doing, and Tybalt's complaining gave way to low wordless groans. _Ha. Adequate indeed._

Before long, though, he knew he was losing track of himself again; he hung onto his partner’s hips and managed not to fall over. There was talking, moaning but he wasn’t sure whose. He realized that he seemed to have finished; he'd pulled out; he was trying to get up.

The floor tilted and he couldn't do it. “No – help,” he gasped, falling, grabbing at the carpet with both hands. “Stop. Mekkit stop.”

His head moved. Someone was sliding an arm under it. “Shh. Nothin yeecuh do.” Tybalt. Just as drunk; slurred and raspy. “Close rreyes an ride it out. Y'll get better. S'aright.”

* * *

A week later, Tybalt had to be helped up the path and into the house, but he was smiling.

Lady Capulet rushed to the door to meet him. “It was a drafty cell and I caught cold, that’s all. I’m fine,” he anticipated.

Word on the street was that the young men had undergone both an exorcism and a punishment, and he looked truly awful, but she didn’t press. She only sighed and ran her hands up to stroke his shoulders. “Oh, Tybalt. Well... you did say you'd do _anything_ for her...”

“Including make disgusting physical sacrifices and allow her to hate me besides. I know. I'm not complaining.” He shrugged. “You were right though: if I'd put a blade through him I'd have made him a romantic martyr. This way, I've made him...”

“Something considerably less appealing.” She smiled. “I just wish I’d been there when they found you; I’m told the scene was unforgettable.”

Tybalt looked away, but he was laughing. “I, for one, will remember it for quite some time.”

“So will everyone, I assure you.”

“And there's no doubt about what happened, is there?  No one thinks I forced him?”

“They found you covered in suck bruises, and him peacefully asleep wearing an expression of sublime satisfaction.  No one doubts that he was an enthusiastically participating degenerate.”

“Our good names are irrevocably destroyed?”

“Irrevocably. Your uncle won’t have you in the house.”

“I expected not.” He took her hands and kissed them. “But Romeo will never show his face here again.”

“And if he did,” she added, “Juliet would throw rocks at him.”

“Then I am satisfied.”

“Satisfied?” Her smile turned a little wicked. “Morbid curiosity prompts me to ask.”

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That would be an emphatic _no._  In fact, once Juliet is done mourning her lost love, you might want to tell her that I saved her from a truly awful fate.”

“That bad?”

“He was clumsy beyond description.” Tybalt’s mouth quirked. “Although drink might explain some of that; I’m told that one of us vomited on the altar itself and I swear before God it wasn’t me.”

“On the altar itself! Oh, Tybalt…”

He grinned. “I did well?”

“You were perfect.”

“Good. And it appears I have reached the end of my usefulness to the family here.” Worn as he was, he looked happier than he had in ages. “I suppose I’ll go abroad for a year or two while this blows over. Any ideas where?”

“Anywhere you like. We’ll discuss it. Your uncle can’t possibly mean to send you away til you’ve slept and eaten.”

“And bathed.”

She nodded. “I was trying to be diplomatic. Yes, please bathe. We’ll discuss your departure afterwards.”

With not a word of complaint about playing his part or about being exiled afterwards, he went upstairs. He really _had_ been perfect; Lady Capulet, at least, was satisfied.

* * *

The End.

Let me know what you think!  Next I may post some Benvolio.  Not crack this time!

 

 


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